Tahoma's Log
Category:Stories Category:Tahoma This small book was once used to record long strings of numbers alongside the names of various staple plants, but later pages have been repurposed. It is written in Draenei and is generally kept in one of the cases on Tahoma's toolbelt. Chant of Mending (Day 18 after Landfall) ::Find the lost, ::Heal the hurt, ::Mourn the dead. ::The lost hold our hopes, ::The hurt bear our future, ::The dead light our memories like stars. This is the first space I've had to write. There has been so much to do, and so many tragedies, but I know every day that we are blessed to have so many still alive. We find new survivors every day, and some escape pods were buried deeply so there are more out there. It is just a matter of finding the missing pods before their crystals dwindle too far to sustain life. The pods are densest around the crash site but some were scattered far and wide with the wreckage. I have been awake for six days but have spent most of that time channeling as much of the Light as I could. Many times now I have wished I sought ordainment; my connection to the Light is not such that I can heal boundlessly, and there are so many who need its touch. Ioannis and Vali not yet been found, but I have strong hopes that they are still alive. They are so near in my prayers. Heartbeat (Day 20 after Landfall) Today they found Vali. By the grace of the naaru he lives, but he is not yet out of danger. We have taken him to the Exodar where there are still working pods. He must sleep while he mends. I write this while listening to the reassuring beat of his heart, quarter-time and faint but usually steady. I channel as much of the Light to him as I can. He is so full of life. He will live. I have all faith in him. Sung to a Son (Day 22 after Landfall) ::Youngling, ::Sleep like a seed in the ground, ::Learning to uncurl into the light. ::Hear my voice in your dreams; ::My thoughts will never leave you. ::I dream of your drumming hooves, ::Your laughing songs, ::Your small hand in mine. He is stable, a word which cannot contain one iota of the joy I feel, but there is so much need for energy and healers that he must be kept in suspension until our need is less dire. He is too fragile, too precious, to risk in the world while we are all so occupied rebuilding, and he will heal better if left undisturbed. I want nothing more but to hold him again, no pod or support system, but find it hard to argue when we so direly need every able hand. They need me as well and it makes only sense that they are concentrating on adults first and keeping the young safe within the Exodar. But he will mend along with us, of that I am certain. There is no sighting of Ioannis, though I've circulated his description at the Exodar. There are so many missing that everything is in confusion. But when I am near sleep and close my eyes it is as if I can hear him somewhere nearby, or feel his touch. I have always been the quiet one, reacting rather than acting, but now I wonder to myself what he would do in my place. He would rise to the occasion, even make jokes to gladden everyone's hearts, all the while he found the most serious ills to mend. He would be in the thick of anything that needed doing. He always brings the best out of me, and so he must do it still, even from far away. Star Children (Local Reckoning: February 15, 623) ::Does a word mean to you what it does to me? ::Does a hand that draws signs upon the air? ::Do we see each other's faces? ::Do we both dance? Do we sing? I have only seen a few of them, and spoken to only two, but we have made contact with the indigenes. They are known as Kal'dorei, a compound word which I have some trouble pronouncing, but I am told that in their own tongue it means "Star Children." They worship local gods, the major among them being a goddess of the white moon. I am told they are led by a pair of religious leaders, one speaking on behalf of their goddess and the other speaking on behalf of the forces of nature. They are quite unusual looking, sometimes with pink skins. Their hair comes in some lovely shades that I would prize in inlay or gemstones, and they have no head plates, horns, or tendrils. They have long, pointed ears and their feet are like those of orcs, though longer and narrower. Like orcs, they have rudimentary fingers on their feet. They have no tails. They are supposed to be somehow related to the Blood Elves who sabotaged our vessel, but they are larger and not so strangely colored, and they also seem to be far more peaceable and willing to negotiate. We are quite close to their lands, and it is a very good thing that we managed to avoid them as well as we did. There was a great deal of damage to these islands that I am glad to have spared a heavily populated area. As it is we will be cleaning up here for a very long time. Some of the Star Children seem to fear us because of our resemblence to the wrong ones. This world has suffered incredibly at their hands. Steady work and good deeds are the only cure I can see for such suspicion. We must prove that we exiles are here in good faith. Singing to the Moon (Local Reckoning: March 1, 623) ::Isera'duna lo belore alah'ni ::Shari'adune diel do aman'ni ::Dune'adah u'phol ::Ande'thoras-ethil ::-- A blessing of Elune (I was not able to get an exact translation, but it is semi-sung) The Star Children have invited us to a magnificent festival that celebrates this world's first defeat of the Burning Legion. While hosted by "druids" (spiritualists who revere and protect nature), most of the intelligent races of Azeroth celebrate, even the orcs and what undead have kept their free will. In a gesture which I find entirely heartwarming the druids have opened their beautiful town Nighthaven to a celebration the features of which are feasting, fireworks, and dancing. Honored ancestor spirits from the past also appear, offering gifts of good luck. Joining in the celebration has made me feel more welcome on Azeroth than ever before, and I feel that the links formed by the moonlight circles to all of the cities will not entirely fade once it is over. Ioannis and Vali would both love the fireworks. I must save some for them. Listen (Local Reckoning: March 22, 623) ::Everything that is, is alive. ::-- Farseer Nobundo Today the proselyte Haemon asked me how I could sit at the feet of a Broken and listen to his orcish teachings. It was not the ignorance of the question itself which stung so much as his tone. How could contempt come so easily to we who can still feel the Light directly? Ioannis would defeat this contempt with laughter. Kind laughter to be sure but he would not stand for such blindness and simply mock it away. I was hurt and even angry. I could only say that we do not find enlightenment by closing our eyes and covering our ears, and remind him the orcs were peaceful before the Burning Legion followed us to this world and corrupted them. There is no more harm in the teaching of Elements than in the power of Shadow, of the Arcane, or of Technology. Mages even tap into some Elements through the Arcane. I do not think he heard me. But we so-called Uncorrupted need the Broken. It is their trial which has brought us this new art, as the blind learn to compensate with other senses. The Light pervades and helps animate creatures, even those who do not see it directly. The Broken may no longer be able to commune with the Light, but that does not mean that the Light does not see them or even move them, as it touches all creatures. After all, many other races love the Light even without our special connection, and here on Azeroth we have even taken them as our allies. Can we in any conscience treat our own kind worse than those who are not our kin? Can we exiles turn and forcibly exile those among us in the most need of kindness? They need so much, now. They are not wrong, but wronged. The Light cannot directly heal the inanimate, as it is intrinsically tied to life. The bones of the earth have been bruised and broken through the attacks of our most dire enemy. The breath of the air, the fiery blood in the core of the world, and the gentler humors of water have all been poisoned. To heal these, we must work through intermediaries, such as those of us who are willing to listen to the voices of the elements. I place more value in the reedy voice of a crippled man, who has surpassed his suffering, than in the pride of one who will accept learning only from the beautiful or the explicable. Breeze (Local Reckoning: April 28, 623) ::You cannot see the wind but for the flight of leaves. ::-- Proverb I have met another seer, Elexie. He is drawn by a quest. His rescue pod fell into the sea, but before he drowned he was rescued by a stranger with silvery skin and hair. He remembers little of the crash except the stranger's voice, which was deep and gentle. He wishes to find this man and speak to him. Thank him, yes, but also he hopes that this stranger knows the fate of his wife. A simple enough wish made difficult by our scattered times. It seems to be the seed of something, a tiny start. I include his lost wife in my prayers, along with so many other lost, along with Ioannis, along with Vali who is not lost to me but lost in sleep. May they be found, every one. Elexie is gathering others to him, as well, though he does nothing overt to draw us together. Other seers, mostly, so we are like-minded enough, but I think he is our wind. He blows us, not always in the same direction, but gently he gives us some direction.